To be a Scottish Terrier on Vacation is to be Philosophical, so I get along fine with everybody here. I even don´t mind posing on wet grass... The Garden today was a wonderful place, full of sunshine and greenery. Granny was in good spirits, not expecting to see any more rain for some time, and not yet tired by the warm weather. After a while we went indoors to keep Granny company at Work. This means she sits limply in front of the computer, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether the Great Swedish Novel will occur to her. Nothing emerged from the computer, so I yawned and retired to my basket for a nap.







Today is the start of the Olympic Games, an event I pay no attention to, because no Scottish Terrier has ever won it. The Games occur in China, which is a faraway place. Granny says it is crowded, but full of interest for Enthusiasts. I should like to disguise myself as an Enthusiast! I reckon we all gather in front of the telly tonight to see what it´s all about.

Today we witnessed a miracle - Sunshine! We all went out in the garden to celebrate.

One´s Place of Sojurn in the country is not entirely a Gladsome thing. It also affords endless opportunities for seasonal misadventures. Such as Bad Weather. Yes, we City-folks too experience bad weather at occasion. One is blown hurriedly along the windswept pavements. My Mom holds the plaid umbrella squarly over her own head, leaving those of us most in need of water-wings to sink and float as best as we can.




In the Country, however, bad weather is overwhelmingly Bad. We all are forced to go out-doors and have to endure ploughing though endless fields of soaked grass and wet bushes to do one´s Inevitable Duty... only to be collect afterwards and being Dryed. One concludes that the whole performance has a purely Ritual significance. "Come here, little Hottentot", remarks Granny in falsely bright tones, reaching for the once-navy-blue towel. Dry again, I retire behind the nearest basket, to imagine what it would be like if I were of the size of a Tibetan Mastiff, with suitable fangs and paws as big as dessert plates. There would be fewer references, one suspects, to "Little" and Hottentots"!




Talking about fangs - yesterday I dropped the last of my puppy-teeth, an impressive canine tooth. Granny picked it up to save it for Mom to see when she returns. Sign of Adult-hood? I welcome that! I´m sick to my teeth (excuse the pun!) of being treated like a Stuffed Toy. Exit the Pup, enter the Scottish Gentleman!